


Scar Tissue

by AuroraNova



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Gen, Post-Episode: s05e16 Doctor Bashir I Presume
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-01
Updated: 2019-08-01
Packaged: 2020-07-28 16:56:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20067424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuroraNova/pseuds/AuroraNova
Summary: Dr. Bashir has always been kind to Rom. Now Rom has a chance to return the favor.





	Scar Tissue

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to ConceptaDecency for letting me use Rule 90 from [The Pool](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16682452/chapters/39121669). Much obliged. =)

Rom couldn’t have been happier with his new job. Chief O’Brien never called him stupid, and the Bajoran government didn’t dock his pay when the chief was in a bad mood. The day shift was even better.

Maybe because of the job, or maybe through practice, standing up to Quark was getting easier, too.

Quark was Quark. He was a very good Ferengi, in that he was always thinking about profit. Rom… wasn’t. He liked latinum well enough – in fact he liked that he was making more of it as a technician than he ever had for Quark, who in theory offered bonuses but always found reasons not to pay them out – but he didn’t think latinum was the most important thing in the universe.

Quark did. So when he thought of a new way to make more latinum, he immediately put the idea into practice. This time, his idea was a series of discreet betting pools for the station’s most serious gamblers, all centered around exactly what Dr. Bashir could do now that everyone knew he was genetically enhanced.

The trouble was, Dr. Bashir was sensitive about the subject. Rom, who’d been accused many times through his life of being too sensitive and of being troublingly different, recognized this immediately. The thought never even crossed Quark’s mind, or if it did, he’d probably decided the doctor would skip a week’s worth of holosuite time at most before returning. No one else had holosuites, after all. Quark would make more off his betting pools than he’d lose if Dr. Bashir found out.

Hew-mons forgave Quark a lot of things because they always wanted to accept other cultures. Rom thought they forgave too much, sometimes. Sure, they might not _like _Quark, but they rarely did more than fine him, and not very large fines at that.

Anyway, Rom had a bad feeling about this venture. Dr. Bashir had just gotten back from a month in an internment camp while a Changeling stole his life, now half the station was looking at him like he was a freak, and Quark’s betting pool was going to encourage people to come up with ways to test what he could really do.

Rom liked Dr. Bashir. He had for years, mostly because the doctor never treated him like an idiot. There was a while when he was jealous because Bashir was dating Leeta, but that worked out alright in the end. Now Rom was happier than he’d ever been, and he wanted other people to be happy too. 

Two months earlier, Rom got a minor plasma burn on the back of his upper thighs. (It was a vole’s fault, indirectly, and he came away from the experience with a new hatred for voles.) He worried about scarring. There were already enough scars back there, and those were directly Quark’s fault.

When Rom was eight, Quark put razor-toothed gree worms in his bed. They bit, of course, dozens of sharp bites all over his rear end. Rom screamed. Quark filmed the whole thing and made four strips of latinum from all the views. (Since gree worms were cheap, it was a very nice profit. Father had been proud of Quark.)

Rom had carried the scars until two months ago.

“Is this g-g-going to leave s-s-scars?” he’d asked Dr. Bashir, who was treating the plasma burn. As always when he was upset or nervous, he stuttered badly.

“No. You’ll never be able to tell,” promised the doctor.

“Oh, good.”

After a moment, Dr. Bashir said, kindly, “I have effective treatments for old scarring, if you’re interested.”

Rom was interested. After three sessions, he couldn’t see any bite marks in the mirror, and Dr. Bashir promised none were left.

So, being happy and in love, and still grateful to Dr. Bashir that Leeta never had to see him with shiny gree worm scars covering his rear, Rom decided something had to be done about Quark’s betting pools before people started coming up with ways to see just how fast and strong the doctor was.

He could’ve gone to Odo, but that was official. Plausible deniability was his friend here. So, that evening when Dax joined them for tongo, Rom put on his best innocent face and asked, “So, C-c-commander, how much have you p-p-put on Dr. Bashir?”

Quark glared. Dax looked up from her cards. “What about Julian?”

“Nothing,” said Quark. “Rom doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

“You said they’re for your b-b-best gamblers, Brother.”

Dax set down her cards. “Do you have pools about Julian’s enhancements?”

“Well,” began Quark, “you understand there’s a lot of curiosity about Dr. Bashir at the moment, and it’s only natural that people will try to figure out what he’s capable of.”

“You’re encouraging people to test him,” said Dax.

“Not at all, Commander. I’m not endorsing any kind of tests.”

He was, of course. Maybe he wasn’t organizing them, but if people wanted to win, they’d be pushing Bashir for sure.

Dax gathered her latinum. “I think I’m done for the night.”

Quark knew this was bad news. “In the middle of a hand?”

“Yes.”

Dax didn’t like people hurting her friends. She would take care of the problem, and people would listen to her more than Rom, anyway. He didn’t mind. It was a relief to let someone else deal with Quark.

Once Dax left, Quark turned on the expected outrage. “Rom, you idiot! You know Dax is friends with Bashir. She’s going to tell Odo, and I’m going to be out a lot of latinum.”

He might not be a good Ferengi, but Rom still knew the Rules of Acquisition. In this case, Number 90 applied. _Play innocent. Play dumb. Play along. _“W-w-well, Brother, you said not to tell anyone e-e-except regular gamblers. Dax is a regular.” Mostly at tongo and not betting pools, true, but tongo was gambling.

“Rom, if you ever work for me again, I will be docking your pay for this.”

It seemed like a good time to leave, so Rom did. He was losing anyway.

The next morning, Chief O’Brien assigned him to some relays in the Replimat. This meant Rom had a perfect view of Garak striding into Quark’s well before opening, pausing only to give Rom a polite nod.

Interesting. Maybe Dax hadn’t gone to Odo. It would make sense, and it just showed that Rom was right to let her decide what to do. Quark wasn’t afraid of Odo. Garak, well, wasn’t everyone at least a little bit afraid of Garak? Everyone but Dr. Bashir, anyway. You were supposed to be afraid of Obsidian Order agents, even exiled and retired ones. And, as the entire station knew, Garak liked Dr. Bashir. He probably wouldn’t appreciate having their lunches interrupted with people trying to ascertain the exact accuracy of Bashir’s memory, either.

Whatever Garak said to Quark, it remained firmly between the two of them, but Garak left a few minutes later looking satisfied, while Quark was in a bad mood for the rest of the day and the following morning.

Quark wasted no time closing the betting pools. He sent Rom a bill listing out how much latinum he felt he was owed, but that was okay. It arrived just after a coupon from Garak’s Clothiers for three complimentary full-body uniform alterations. Without an expiration date, which was unheard of in Ferengi business.

Rom was fairly sure Dax let him win two slips of latinum from her the next time they played tongo. He was beginning to doubt Rule Number 285. It seemed like his good deed was not only unpunished but actively rewarded.

As for Dr. Bashir, he continued on without anyone trying to see just how quickly he could dodge an airborne glass of ale and blissfully unaware of how much latinum people were willing to bet on the answer.

Quark complained about Rom’s lack of brotherly loyalty, but Rom thought about gree worm bites and didn’t feel sorry at all.


End file.
